Tales of KOTOR: The Onasi Legacy
by Dante-Raven
Summary: Another from Trillian4210's Forums! This is centered around the 'Onasi' Blaster, with 5 short stories that will come in a Chapter at a time. This is it: the finale!
1. The Onasi Legacy

Star Wars

Tales of the Knights of the Old Republic

The Onasi Legacy

**Author's Notes: There are five stories centeredaround the 'Onasi Blasters.' Each story will come per Chapter. If you've got a fic or idea you'd like to request, go to Trillian4210's Request a Fic forums! **

* * *

He sat there, his eyes lowered to the dark, almost amber and sickly brown liquid that swirled in the cup that rested before him. He was still mulling over the one person he had sworn to hunt—the one person who had now managed to outsmart him. 

_Revan_, he thought.

_I had you in my sights and yet somehow you managed to elude me_.

His hand lowered to his holsters on his thighs. He wore a long, dull brown coat over his worn Republic uniform.

It wasn't much of a uniform anymore, what with it being torn and modified and personalized.

It consisted of his black breeches, with his black boots, along with the rustic orange vest that covered his chest. Underneath that was a grey tunic that was worn and sodden—like most of his other clothes.

He picked up the dirty cup and sloshed the contents around until he decided to down it.

The coarse liquid burned all the way down his throat.

He coughed and sighed in relief as it settled in his stomach, reaching out towards his body and causing his extremities to tingle slightly with the feeling it had over him.

"That's some good stuff, isn't it?" Came a gravelly, coarse and friendly voice.

His eyes shifted to the man standing before him.

He stood there, blocking the light that lit up the dim cantina. His body was lean, and he had dark wavy hair, with a light amount of stubble on his face. He wore a suit of light armour, which was heavily modified and of unknown origins to the man sitting down. He had two holsters on his thighs as well, one of which was missing a blaster. "Is this seat taken?"

"The booth is occupied," the somber man replied, rebuking any friendly gesture.

"Well, I'd like to get the same thing as you," the standing one replied, flashing a small smile and sitting down in front of him. He nodded to the bartender some ways away and made himself comfortable as his drink—and one that he had bought for his companion—was ushered to him a few moments later.

It was midday and barely anyone had chosen to occupy the dark, dank cantina.

He shifted uncomfortably at his newfound compatriot who could have chosen any other place to sit. _What's his angle?_ He wondered to himself as he brought one hand up to cover his mouth as he coughed, gently removing his newly acquired weapon from his hilt.

The young man before him appeared no more than in his early twenties or late teens.

"So what brings you over here?" The young man asked, a smile plastered onto his face.

The older man pulled his tumbler to his mouth and enjoyed taking in the strong burning liquid. "Business," he replied, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and setting the tumbler down.

The young man nodded, sipping his drink quietly. "It's hush-hush, eh?"

The old man looked at the kid and didn't know whether or not to kill him or to play along with his antics. "Let's just say I'm in for a really big payday." He added a smile, revealing his yellowed teeth and split lips.

The young man merely nodded, almost as if he understood.

_Could this be part of the competition?_ He wondered, looking at the brat. It had been some time since Revan had made her appearance, but this kid obviously was no girl—and obviously no Revan.

Malak had ordered his specially trained assassins to hunt her down.

Most came back in pieces.

Their lightsabers were almost always gone.

He scratched his chin, wondering whether or not the brat was part of Malak's forces or not. Either way, he couldn't feel anything from him.

Sith were specially trained to hide themselves within the Force.

The young man just sat there smiling and drinking his drink. His eyes had shifted to one of the bartender's waitresses, who appeared to take some notice and flash a smile at the young man, who returned it with a wink.

_This kid is something else_. His other hand went lower and unhooked his new blaster. Apparently some kid named Onasi had lost it. It hardly mattered to him anyway, the name was good for a cover. The snot-nosed punk probably ended up killed by a Dark Jedi or something. Either way, the blaster had come into his possession and it would stay there.

He enjoyed using it after all.

After a few more moments, the kid extended his hand. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you my name."

"What is it?" He replied, not even taking the hand.

The kid casually ran that same hand through his hair. "The name's Dustil Omas."

He cocked a brow. _What was the name of that Onasi brat?_ "I'm Daggoth Onasi."

Dustil nodded, smiling casually. "Nice to meet you Daggoth."

"Yeah, right, pleasure's all mine," he returned unenthusiastically. "Look, don't you have somewhere to be?"

Dustil shrugged his shoulders. "Actually to be honest, I'm kind of waiting for this girl."

_Interesting_, he thought, looking at the kid. "What's her name?" _You might come in handy after all._

"Her name's Qiana Revanche."

_Revanche? Could it really be…?_ "What does she look like, Dustil?" His interest had become peaked and he set aside the blaster as he leaned in, eager to hear what the kid was describing of this woman. If Dustil was really waiting for Revan, he was one of two people: one of Malak's cronies, like Daggoth, or part of Revan's crew.

In any case, the kid looked far too young to be one of Revan's compatriots.

But in strange times breeds strange allies.

Daggoth listened intently to what the young man was saying, but all he could actually make out while trying to probe his mind were the thoughts and desires of a teenage male.

"She's about yay high," he described, bringing his hand just up to his temples, "she's got dark brown hair, really grey eyes, a nice rack." He paused for a few moments, smiling widely at the thought of this girl's chest. "And she's got a great--,"

"Kid," he interrupted, "I can imagine she's got a great body, but can we focus just a bit?"

Dustil cocked a brow. "Sure, sure, sorry about that. Well, she's got these lips that just want to make you go---uh, sorry, she's got golden skin, I guess. Her eyes are not like yours or mine. They're almost at an angle or something."

Daggoth nodded, taking in the information and matching it with what he was briefed on several days before. _She might actually be Revan—and this kid has no clue what he has just done._ It took everything in Daggoth not to shoot the kid there. He had to wait until the kid had helped show him if it was Revan or if it wasn't. Either way, someone wouldn't walk out of this cantina alive.

"So," Dustil said, leaning towards Daggoth, who was now sipping from the drink Dustil had bought him, "you think I got a chance to nail her?"

Daggoth almost choked on his drink, setting it down and coughing for a few moments until he felt the burning sensation of liquid in his nose. "Look kid," he said, coughing a few more times, "I think _I'd_ probably nail her a few times. You don't stand a chance."

Dustil scowled slightly. "You really think she'd want to sleep with someone who has yellow teeth, bad breath and is as haggard as yourself?" He rubbed his chin and ran that same hand through his hair. "I don't think so—she's probably going to be into me."

He pointed a cut finger at the young man, "keep telling yourself that." He cleared his throat, hoping to change the subject and keep an eye on this Omas brat. "So, how come you only got one blaster?"

Dustil looked lamely at his drink, his shoulders sagging. "Well, I'll be honest—it was a present from my old man to me. I-I lost it."

Daggoth leaned in, listening to the story as he paid no mind to the Onasi blaster. After all, the kid's name was Omas, he was not Force Sensitive and he was no actual threat to him.

"It all started on my twentieth birthday—I mean, I had just received it from him and he was saying how it's a tradition in our family. The father would pass it down to his child when they turned twenty. He received his from his father on his twentieth and his father received it from _his_ father on his twentieth." Dustil took a sip of his deep scarlet beverage and rested the cup down as he continued his story.

"So, off he goes, to fight in this war and so leaving my mother and I on our own. He is some big hotshot hero."

"Yeah? For what army?"

"The Republic I guess—it hardly matters anymore, he's dead." The bitterness in his voice had grown and Dustil continued his story. "So, a few months roll on by and the Sith fleet comes into my homeworld and hammers it to pieces." He looked up at Daggoth, "but by this time, I've already joined the Sith army."

Daggoth nodded. _I can relate kid_.

"So, they glass my homeworld and kill off my only remaining relative: my mother."

_Ouch._ Daggoth nodded, ordering another round of drinks as Dustil downed the last of his contents.

"After that, I go freelance."

"Not a wise thing, kid," Daggoth pointed out. "Malak doesn't look too kindly to those who leave his army."

"How'd _you_ know that?" Dustil shot back.

"Because I'm a drifter, kid, much like yourself."

Dustil shook his head, "well that doesn't matter. You want to hear my story?"

Daggoth nodded, eager to listen and eager to kill time until his target came by.

"So I up and leave after that, killing almost everyone I knew in my platoon. I steal a shuttle take it to Nar Shaddaa, dump the bodies, sell the equipment the ship—_everything_. Then I get me a new ship, better weapons, armour—you name it. Then I went freelance. I gladly took on Sith targets and I killed them all, like the animals that they are."

"But you hold no love for the Republic either, right kid?"

He nodded. "Well, I don't have any love for either empires—they took away everything that ever mattered to me. So anytime a contract came my way about taking out a Republic operative or high profile target—I accepted it."

"So how'd you lose your blaster, kid?"

"I'm getting to it," he said, as the waitress he had been eyeing earlier came over and gave them the ordered drinks. He winked at her and she smiled back, walking off to deal with another customer.

"I go to Borleias and there I run into the bloodiest battle since the Honoghr campaign, where Revan was killed."

Daggoth nodded. _She's not dead yet, kid. Not yet._

"So there are two sides, fighting for everything and then there's a pause in the battle." Dustil's elbows rested on the table as he leaned even further in. "So they come to me, talking about how they want me to join their cause."

"Who?"

"The Sith and the Republic."

"And what happened?"

"I told them where to stick it."

Daggoth smiled, he was beginning to like the kid.

"So I run into a group of Sith and Republic who are bogged down into their little trenches. So I look around for my target and voila! He's there, smack dab in the middle and covered in dirt, blood and all sorts of things. So I go to kill him when who else is there? The old man and my _other_ target! I kill my first target, at which point my father tries to stop me. He jumps out of the trenches and is turned into a pincushion from the fire. So naturally I grow angry. I found my other target and threw a thermal detonator."

"The Republic won that battle, kid," Daggoth pointed out.

"And that's why," Dustil retorted. "Turns out I kill off the legendary General Corin Vallace of the Sith Empire."

"So I bet the Sith are hunting you."

Dustil shook his head. "Oh no, they didn't know who did it. I collected my credits. Then I get boarded on my way back, that day and I end up getting into a scuffle with a few of those Sith pigs. I lose my ship by self-destructing it. I take off in my pod, but what's more, I lose my pistol to some cheap, no talent, hack Sith who is probably sporting it."

Daggoth scoffed. "Yeah, well, I doubt you let anyone live. It's really a small price to pay, kid—losing your family's blaster. I mean, sure it's going to be a heartbreaker that you won't have anything to pass on to your kids, but on that same note, you can always get a new one and forge it out to be your family's heirloom."

Dustil shook his head. "I don't think you quite understand, Daggoth. This _is_ a priceless heirloom. I can't forge anything on it."

The older man cocked his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, my family is dead, and I'm the last living Omas. That blaster was the last link to my family."

Daggoth sipped his drink, "yeah well, don't beat yourself up, kid. This war has shaken everything from Outer Rims to the Core. No one's seen this level of brutality in a war—ever. I doubt we ever will again. Everyone's lost something precious to them. You just happened to lose your family blaster."

"And what about you?"

"Me?"

Dustil nodded.

"I got my family blaster—we hail from Telos."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I am the last of my family too, kid."

Dustil nodded. "Did I ever tell you where I was from?"

Daggoth shook his head.

"Telos."

The older man smiled. "Another lost Telosian, eh?"

"Guess so."

Daggoth brought his tumbler up in a toast.

Dustil did likewise.

"To the lost children of Telos. Your silver glades and large cities will forever be missed."

The pair threw back the content into their mouths.

"You're forgetting one thing, Daggoth," Dustil said, his voice hinting playfully.

"Oh?" He asked, smiling. "What's that?" He rested the tumbler down and looked up to see Dustil.

Then a distinct discharge filled the room, followed by searing pain, ozone and cooked flesh.

Daggoth slumped to the table, his body a charred husk.

"Telos was a blue, green and white pearl. No silver glades and certainly no large cities." He moved over and picked up the Onasi blaster. "And the name's Onasi, Dustil Onasi. And you're the scumbag who ended up with my blaster. I'd remember a drunken lout such as yourself."

Rising, Dustil holstered both blasters into their holsters. The Onasi blaster fit comfortably in its worn berth. He walked over to the bartender and slapped down a credit. "For the trouble."

He left the exit of the cantina and turned the corner, seeing a woman with dark brown hair, grey eyes and who stood almost at his height.

"All's well, I take it?" She asked him, flashing him a cocksure grin.

"Yep. I had to find something I lost."

Her eyes shifted to the Onasi blaster at his thigh. "So I can see."

"Think the old man will be angry?"

She shook her head, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as they walked off. "I doubt it. Carth would have been angrier if you lost yourself than the blaster."

Dustil nodded.

"And he wouldn't let me hear the end of it if something happened to you, kiddo."

* * *

**Author's Note: Yep, this is the first one. The next one will be up shortly. I hope you enjoyed this. **


	2. Brothers in Arms

Brothers in Arms 

Ulric always found himself being the black sheep of the family.

It didn't help that his older brother, Carth, was a big hotshot pilot in the Navy.

It had always been like that since they were young boys. Ulric found himself living under the shadow of his brother, who achieved all the athletic awards, trophies and even moved on up to taking over the family legacy in the Republic Armed Forces.

It hardly mattered that they were a year and a month apart.

Carth had always been the one to get all the attention and it had always bothered Ulric that he was stuck with nothing in the end.

Their father had given Carth tips on being the best pilot in the Republic Navy.

It so happened that their old man was also a pilot within the Navy.

Their mother, as usual, seemed to be the one who attempted to pay attention to Ulric, but she just never really tried her hardest.

As always, Ulric was the outcast.

Now here he stood, twenty years later and having to salute to his older brother who smiled at him gratefully and appreciatively.

Ulric's hair was cropped closely to his scalp, as was uniform amongst the Republic infantry. His jaw was more squared than Carth's and he knew that the older man had gotten most of his looks from their mother. He returned the smile to his older brother, knowing full well that it meant so much for him to be there.

It gave the hotshot the feeling that someone was there looking out for him.

Even if that meant it was his younger and green brother.

"Do the family proud, Ulric," he said, as he clasped both of his hands on his brother's shoulders. "I always believed in you and I'm glad that you're here with me."

Ulric flashed him that signature Onasi smile. "Well of course you're happy," he whispered, "you've got someone to watch your back."

The older man hugged Ulric warmly. "It doesn't matter because I'll be the one ensuring you get to the ground in one piece."

"Yeah, don't try to get me killed or something, what with that sibling rivalry," he snorted, hugging Carth back with just as much strength as Carth had to him. Ulric found his ribs hurting shortly after they had let go of their embrace.

"Yeah well, the folks will kill me if they hear something happening to you."

"And what do you think Morgana would say?" He shot back, ruffling Carth's carefully styled hair. "Besides, my favourite nephew would kill me too."

"Dustil's your _only_ nephew, Ulric," Carth pointed out.

"Yeah, well, it's all the same."

Before the pair could go on further, a klaxon roared to life and that meant anymore reminiscing was at its end. The austere and neat barracks within the cruiser filled with commotion as both grunts and Ruperts alike clambered about to get to their stations.

The battle was just beginning.

Carth clasped his younger brother's shoulder tightly.

"Don't worry," Ulric said, taking some sort of grim satisfaction that his older brother was scared and he wasn't, "things will turn out fine."

"It's not 'things' I'm worried about, Ully." His face shifted to the younger man. "You just take care of yourself down there, ok?"

Ulric sighed, nodding and understanding where his brother was going with his train of thought. "You take care of yourself too. I won't let anything happen to me—and you make sure you come back in one piece."

Carth grinned. "Deal."

Both dark haired men scrambled to their stations, throwing on their uniforms in the process.

Carth had jumped into his orange and crimson vest, with his dark brown trousers, while Ulric threw on his own uniform.

The pair looked at each other one more time and made their way out, as their pistols dangled on their belts.

Ulric paused for a moment, removing his pistol and admiring its quality and workmanship.

The pistol was black, with a slightly curved handle for its contoured grip. Etched into the handgrip was the Onasi family crest.

_I won't let you down_, he swore, holstering the blaster into its berth as he raced out to get to his station.

He weaved through the traffic of people that were racing through the hallways, eager to get to their own stations, as he barely managed to get into his turbolift and ride it all the way to the locker room.

He opened his locker, nodding to several fellow officers who were already clad in their full body armour and helmets.

"Late again, eh, Onasi?" Came the voice of one of his companions.

"Look, I was just having a brotherly moment with Carth."

"Ah, yes. What a man," came the voice of another. "If only you were half the man he is."

Ulric cast the woman an amused glare. "Actually, if it weren't for me, he'd never be in the Navy. But thanks for thinking so highly of the soldier who gets to watch your back."

She quieted down and stuck out her tongue towards him, moving off to don her own suit of armour, as she was clad in her undergarments.

Ulric let his gaze stay for a moment longer before he threw off his uniform and clad himself in the gold, orange and burgundy armour of the Republic soldier.

"Listen up!" Came a halting voice of their platoon commander.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to face the gentleman who stood before them.

He had a scar running down across his right eye to his jaw line. His hair was snow white and his face was filled with stubble and a roughness that could only have come with years of war. He walked slowly towards the center of the collected group of soldiers.

Ulric looked at him, while continuing to don his armour, knowing full well that he just had to strap his boots on and attach his holster that carried his family blaster.

"We have word that the Mandalorians have begun to hole up their forces on Dxun and Onderon. Revan has decided that now is the time to assault the Mandalorian headquarters and that it will scatter their fleet and buy us more time to reorganize a full war machine under Revan's banner." His eyes shifted about, looking at every soldier in front of him. "It seems we're the lucky bunch that gets sent to Dxun. So pack your things, and make sure your weapons are fully loaded. We'll deploy at 1130 hours Galactic Standard."

_Great, that means we were in hyperspace for almost three hours! We're deploying in half an hour?_ Ulric bit his lip and checked his chronometer to ensure he was right.

It was confirmed: thirty minutes until deployment.

He sighed and threw his former attire into his locker. His hands moved to the edge of the locker and he paused, staring at the small holoimage of he and Carth standing together on the shores of Telos, smiling and happy.

_I won't let you down, Carth_, he swore. _You do your job up here, I'll do mine down there._ He closed the door and picked up his GR-2012A Republic Blaster rifle. He removed the power pack, ensuring it was fully charged and slapped it back in. His hands went over to his belt, checking for a set of power packs.

Normally power packs would last one an eternity before it ran out.

Ulric never took chances, especially when it came to brutal battles like the one he was sure they were about to walk into.

It took him almost fifteen minutes to run through his equipment, making sure everything was in working order. Satisfied, he hooked a group of plasma grenades to his belt as he picked up his rifle and joined the procession that moved towards their dropships.

He noticed the two soldiers who were jesting with him earlier and he stood beside them, waiting patiently as their commander eyed them thoroughly.

"Ah, fresh meat for the grinder," he said approvingly, his eyes meeting Ulric's before he turned and walked off. "Get yourselves to your dropships and standby for the drop. Secure your gear and hope that the Force loves you today!" He entered his own dropship, followed by platoons entering their own, shortly thereafter.

Ulric entered his own ship, finding a seat in his pod and sliding the guard over his chest and stomach. He eyed his companions, knowing that they sat on his left and right sides, facing him.

Dropships were terms they used for the three-man pods they dropped.

Ulric never fully developed any love for the pods.

It certainly didn't help that they were being deployed via troopships and by Jedi who weren't even combat experienced.

The man to his right closed his eyes, praying to whatever Force he prayed to.

The woman on his left, however, grinned at him.

_Oh for Frack's sake. I have a religious fruit and some she-warrior over here as my support. _Ulric closed his eyes for a moment. _Carth that promise might be harder to keep._

There came a sudden whoosh of air, followed by a hiss and a loud clank, as the pod shuddered, leaving Ulric to wonder whether or not their carrier had been shot down or if they had begun their descent.

"Whoo!" She screamed out, as the pod continued to shudder and alarms began to blare.

"May the Force be with us. May the Force be with us. May the Force be with us," the other one repeated, as his words slowly began to pick up a frantic pace.

Ulric gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the pod continue to shudder into its freefall as his head began to shake, throwing about his brain and eyes. _I hate this! _He felt his bones begin to shake and his muscles tense as the pod continued its fall. Beads of sweat now began to drip on his forehead, reminding him of the heat that was beginning to build up.

He could only hope that the pod didn't shatter or get hit by a stray blaster bolt.

The slightest tap on these things tended to cause pods to collapse and detonate, killing all occupants.

The pod began to shudder and shake, as klaxons began to blare, signaling that the alarms had failed and several internal systems had blown off.

"We will become one with the Force and bathe in its glory," the man continued, his panicked voice attempting to be calm.

"Let it burn! Let it burn!" she screamed.

_Hold together you rust bucket!_ Ulric screamed in his mind as the pod continued to shudder. _Just make it for this drop and you can die later! I have a battle to fight!_

The pod's outer hull began to groan in protest, almost as if it had heard Ulric's internal command.

_Don't you dare do it!_

The groaning of superheated metal continued.

_Don't you do it!_

It continued to groan, as alarms blared and acrid smoke began to fill the small space.

His companions, as usual, were screaming for their lives and enjoyment.

And then there came an internal whoosh of air as the pod doors opened, followed by a loud thud and a disorienting crash.

Ulric's world was filled with intense pain, as his head shook about and the pod continued to stumble about.

It continued rolling, as the pod continued to be filled with their screams until it came to a deadening halt.

Ulric's body lurched and he felt his body scream in protest as the guard kept it in place, while his body felt like it was going to fly across the other side of the pod. He gasped for pain, hearing the whimpering prayers of his one companion and the dark glee of laughter in the other.

_Why do I always get the freaks?_ He groaned and slapped the guard back up, causing him to slink out of his chair, rubbing his chest. He removed his rifle and checked to see if his pistol was still holstered to him.

He smiled, feeling the reassuring grip of his blaster.

He turned to face his companions, who were already out and picking up their gear. "All right crew," he said, "let's move out."

They nodded and they left the pod, crouching as they heard distant blaster fire and explosions that raked across the landscape.

The planet was a war zone, and the wildlife scrambled to get out of the way, as dense green foliage and quadrupeds were cut down by the beams of energy and the occasional energy shelling of a mortar team.

_Blast, we're behind the lines._ He bit his lips and looked about, watching a few streaks of scarlet tear through a few trees several hundred feet before him. He turned to face them, crouching down under the dense greenery. "All right, we need to regroup with command and then follow their orders."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Onasi," the woman, Gen, pointed out, "but we're in the middle of a fracking war!"

The darker coloured human, Dolan, nodded. "She's right. There's no way we can get to command unless we shoot our way there. " His eyes shifted around. "And from the way I see it—we're probably going to be doing a lot of shooting."

Ulric sighed. _Great, just what I need: teammates who don't want to follow my orders_. "Well what do you suggest we do? Run out there and show ourselves? We're going to get cut down by friendly fire and the enemy."

"Better to go down in a blaze of glory," Gen suggested.

"Stow it," Ulric replied sharply. "Look, we're stuck here, whether we like it or not. We either go to command and take orders or we fight our way through towards Mandalorian HQ."

Before anyone could reply, their open comlink went off the wire, with a distinct voice of the Jedi General in charge of the battle's efforts.

"_This is General Oberon Kisho to any units outside of friendly lines. Those of you who haven't been captured or killed, need to get to the Mandalorian HQ, as located on your datapad schematics. I trust you're all well. We're pinned down and we need you to eliminate those headquarters so we can send their groups into disarray. They're too coordinated. I repeat: eliminate Mandalorian headquarters at all costs._"

"Well, it looks like we're going in the opposite direction," Gen said cheerfully, a bloodlust glimmer in her eye.

Ulric didn't like the idea of fighting alongside her. He wasn't worried about her killing more Mandalorians than him; he was worried that he'd get caught in her indiscriminate range of fire. He glanced to his darker skinned compatriot, who answered him by nodding. "All right," he said reluctantly, "we're going to take out that HQ."

Gen smiled, cocking her rifle.

Ulric suddenly wished he hadn't woken up at all.

The trio crawled from their fallen pod and raced along a dirt path, ignoring the cuts and scrapes of the foliage, as their hearts pumped rapidly.

They continued racing through the path until they reached a pod in front of them.

The round extravehicular unit was scorched, with its own panels and compartments submerged into itself.

"Any survivors?" Dolan asked, as Ulric moved to check the door of the pod.

All the young man could see was a dark smeared substance covering the transparisteel view in the door. "I don't know," he shrugged, slinging his rifle across his shoulders as he bent down to open an emergency compartment.

Gen stood in front of the door, as he moved away, her morbid curiosity getting the better of her.

The small panel opened up with a hiss and a metallic pop, as he touched a lever and pulled it. After another moment, they heard the groan of metal as the door popped, flying away, causing Gen to jump away, cursing under her breath.

Ulric paid her no mind, knowing full well that if she were caught under that, she would be better off dead.

Dolan and Ulric were nowhere near as strong as was needed to lift the thick door from her. It would be too late if they had even attempted to help her.

Ulric, grabbing his rifle, entered the pod, only to see what the dark smear was.

The pod had decompressed sometime during its descent.

No one had survived.

He shook his head sadly and moved away from the pod. "It's a tomb."

Dolan closed his eyes, muttering a few prayers before he turned and left.

Gen looked at the pair incredulously. "Hello! You guys are muttering prayers to the dead when I almost got crushed by that door!"

Ulric shot her a glare. "Who was stupid enough to step in front of the door as I pulled open the manual switch?"

She was silent.

He shook his head, "just watch it or you'll get us all killed."

She scowled, swearing under her breath once more, as the trio continued their trek down the sweltering jungle.

The sounds of support ships and explosions could be heard some distance away from them.

"How do you think the fight's going?" Dolan asked, as they continued their trek down the path that had become nothing more than just foliage and young trees.

Ulric wiped his sweat from his nose, feeling the heat as badly as his partners. "Well, from the sound of things, it seems like the Republic is taking a beating from the well-entrenched positions of the Mandalorians. I think the Mandalorians are enjoying this more than we are."

"What was your first clue?" Dolan asked sarcastically.

Ulric allowed himself a smile. "Well, with the exception of our female counterpart," he nodded, indicating Gen, "I say we're probably going to be screwed."

She replied by smiling widely and cocking her blaster—again.

_She's only going to bring that weapon to ruin if she keeps that up_, he couldn't help but think. He looked around and back at his weapon. _On second thought, her blaster will probably survive this, rather than its masters._ Ulric nodded in a direction. "Let's move."

Before they could move a foot further, they heard the cocking of several blasters followed by, "hold!"

Out of nowhere, a group of orange and red clad Republic soldiers appeared.

Ulric noticed they had come from within depths of the foliage. _How thick is this jungle?_ Of course, he knew the answer: the entire moon happened to be a jungle.

Another sweat-stained officer moved towards him, extending a hand and recognizing the young man. "We're glad to see you—we've been holed up here since the deployment. I'm Ensign Jarek Grenn. You're Onasi, right?"

Ulric nodded. "The younger of the two, that's right."

"It's good to see another Telosian."

"What's the situation?" Ulric asked, knowing full well that this was hardly the time for pleasantries, despite the mutual feeling of each other's presence.

"We were on board the _Vagrancy_, which was shot down. We barely managed to get into our pods in time."

"How many of you are there?" Ulric asked, his mind finally registering that there was quite a bit of fellow Republic officers.

"21," came Grenn's reply.

Ulric just inhaled sharply. "All right, we'll need to move--," he was cut off as he was hit by a brown-orange blur.

A growl followed and it was then that a pack of hungry cannoks leapt at the group, who was quick to open fire and duck out of the way.

Ulric held his blaster rifle up to his chest—the only thing between him and the hungry maw of the ugly, bulbous eyed canine.

It continued to snap at him, its breath rancid, as its saliva dripped onto Ulric's chin.

"Get this thing off me!" He screamed as its weight continued to bear down on him. He felt his arms buckling and it's mouth coming closer.

For a compact animal, it was by far one of the heaviest things he had ever encountered in his life.

He could hear the others scrambling and shooting at other cannoks who had surprised them. No help would be forthcoming now. He continued to feel it bear down on him, as he struggled to keep his blaster in between him and the cannok.

The creature continued to growl and bark as it tried to gnaw at his flesh, only to be held by the blaster rifle.

Struggling with his foe, Ulric pulled his legs closer to his body in an attempt to tuck it to his chest and throw the animal off.

Suddenly, the animal squealed and shifted for a moment.

Ulric's foot had hit the animal in a far more sensitive spot than he had anticipated.

The creature whimpered for a moment and then grew angry, renewing its attempt to maul him.

The lurch in the animal had bought young Onasi the time he needed to tuck his feet to his chest as he kicked out and sent the animal back.

He felt the great weight fly off of him and felt a wave of relief and soreness in his muscles. Not allowing his body a moment of rest, he rolled to his right and then rose pulling his rifle up and squeezing the trigger as the cannok raced into him again.

The cannok merely squealed and let out a low whimper as Ulric rose, eyeing the dead animal for a moment before his gaze met Grenn, who had just turned away from his own dead cannok.

Grenn merely nodded, his cheek scratched with minor blood pouring from his cheek.

They heard the cutting and slicing of an animal, causing them to turn around to see Gen removing a cruelly serrated blade from her latest victim.

The animal was terribly carved up.

"What?" She asked, as she looked at them in curiosity.

Ulric shook his head and turned to Dolan, who was tending to a wounded officer.

So far, there had been no sight of a Mandalorian and the sounds of battle could still be heard.

"We need to get moving to take out that Mandalorian HQ."

Grenn nodded sourly. "I heard the reports before we went down. We're getting hit hard."

"I know," Ulric returned. "We have to go now."

Grenn nodded. "You've got the seniority, we'll follow."

After a moment longer, the entire group began their trek towards the enemy headquarters, hoping that they were not too late.

Countless lives depended on them.

_Carth, I hope you're doing well_, Ulric couldn't help but think. His older brother was an ace pilot, however Ulric knew that there were times when there was always a better pilot. He could only hope that the brother he had sworn to look after would make it out of the war safe and sound.

He couldn't live with himself if Carth didn't make it out of the war.

Ulric knew Carth felt the same way.

His thoughts were cut short as his keen eyes picked up a clearing ahead of them. Ulric raised his hand in a fist, signaling to the group that they should stop. He could hear the bustling of someone moving up behind him and towards him.

It was Grenn.

"What's going on?"

"Small clearing just up ahead," Ulric said in a low voice. The entire group had crouched, so as not to be seen by any snipers.

Orange and red uniforms found in a dense green landscape wasn't hard to miss, but thankfully the Force was with them this day. They had entered an incredibly thick patch of foliage that had covered them.

It was the only thing saving them from any potential snipers.

He narrowed his eyes. "Something's not right."

"What do you mean? I see nothing." Grenn rose to move towards the clearing, only to be pulled back by Ulric.

"Get down!" He hissed to the older but inexperienced man. "There are mines! If the Mandalorians have snipers, they'll hit you from here."

Grenn crouched again, and reluctantly said, "I've never heard of a Mandalorian sniper."

Ulric shrugged. "Neither have I, but one can never be too certain. They _have_ been known to use mines, Grenn. Just stick with me, and you'll make it out alive."

The officer nodded sullenly, "all right."

Ulric rested a hand on Grenn's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. You're new to this military, aren't you?"

He nodded. "I used to be in the TSF. Back there, it's different."

"I know," Ulric whispered. "Things were far more different before this war. You'll get the experience and I have no doubt you'll make it out alive."

"If we get out of this one, you mean," Grenn pointed out.

Ulric didn't acknowledge the remark, though he silently conceded it. _I can only hope that we do_.

Before anyone could say anything else however, Dolan moved up towards them. "We've got a problem, Chief."

Ulric shifted his weight and looked at the darker man. "What do you mean?"

"Gen's run off."

Ulric's face paled. "Ran off where?"

To answer his question and sudden fear, a mine detonated, followed by several more. His eyes went wide with horror as a group of Mandalorians decloaked in front of the clearing and cut her already flailing form down.

Someone must have seen it too because in that one moment, the Republic soldiers rose and charged the field, screaming and firing at the Mandalorians.

"Sithspit!" Grenn hissed as the three men joined their companions, firing their blaster rifles with deadly accuracy.

The Mandalorians, however, were by far the more dangerous.

The Republic soldiers continued to open fire, taking cover within the foliage, but also taking hits.

Few Mandalorians collapsed under the firepower, as they unleashed large and heavy repeating blaster carbines into the greenery.

Ulric, Dolan and Grenn took cover behind a fallen tree.

It was at that moment that Ulric spotted several other forms decloaked with large serrated blades.

Blood was spilled while screams and discharging energy and explosions filled the cacophony of the scene.

Ulric and Grenn fired their weapons, while Dolan screamed out prophetic words from the Jedi Code as he dropped one Mandalorian after another.

Onasi continued to squeeze the trigger, as rapid energy slammed into the chest of his one target, sending the fanatically armoured soldier back. He ducked and narrowly missed the energy that crashed into his cover.

He felt the spattering of blood at his left cheek and knew that Dolan had gone down.

The darker man had stopped his prophetic screaming as he took a massive burst of energy sear through his chest and burn it.

Grenn continued to fare well, as he fired his rifle at any walking blue and silver armoured soldier.

Ulric turned around and taking aim for a moment, he drew a bead on the one who shot Dolan and squeezed the trigger.

The crimson bolt slammed into the visor of the Mandalorian, who screamed before he collapsed.

Feeling a tingling sensation, Ulric spun about, as a whoosh of cool air brushed his left ear. He brought his rifle up and felt a metallic blade hit it, shortly before he rolled to the ground and brought it back up to deflected the metallic blade that came down to cleave him again.

He knew Grenn was under fire and couldn't help him.

He was on his own.

The Mandalorian continued to chop his blade down, forcing Ulric to roll away until he was caught in between the heavily armoured man's legs.

"You're going nowhere," he said smugly through his faceplate.

Ulric looked up at in horror and with all the force he could muster, he slammed the butt of his rifle into the Mandalorian's knee, causing the man to howl in pain.

Seizing the moment, Onasi pulled out his family blaster and fired it into the man's groin.

The Mandalorian fell back, howling in more agony. He didn't notice the soldier rise and level his blaster at him.

Ulric squeezed the trigger twice. He looked about and watched a squad of Mandalorians moving from a fallen soldier towards another. Not wasting a moment, he removed a plasma grenade from his belt and hurled it into the group.

Reputed to be powerful warriors, this particular group was especially slow-witted.

A crimson ball of energy vapourized a few of the soldiers and its waves sent the others flying away, landing into trees and floors as crumpled, lifeless forms.

Now bereft of his blaster rifle, Ulric relied on his lighter, but no less deadly, pistol. He drew a bead on a Mandalorian who was rising from the explosion and fired several times, hitting his mark at the base of his skull.

His eyes caught Grenn, rising with a sword and fighting against a Mandalorian who accepted the non-spoken challenge.

Ulric's eyes shifted to the others, watching as some were either shot down or were sliced open. His sight shifted to the base.

Taking a step towards it, the younger Onasi failed to realize another Mandalorian who had moved away from his latest victim.

A sharp pain had driven itself into his back, shooting all over the soldier's body. Ulric felt his legs become weak and all the warmth in his body flow out of him as he hit the ground. All he could see was the Onasi crest staring at him from his cold, pale hand.

_Carth, I'm so sorry._

A metallic foot stepped down on his forearm, blocking the family crest.

_I failed you_.

Another metallic foot kicked at the fallen man's chest, causing his gaze to see a red and silver armoured Mandalorian looking down at him.

_I couldn't keep my promise._

The Mandalorian brought his blaster up to Ulric's eyes.

_I just couldn't keep my promise._

The last thing Ulric heard was the _snap-hiss_ of something, and the shifting in the Mandalorian's gaze.

Then he knew nothing more…

* * *

_13 Years Later _

Admiral Carth Onasi walked into the TSF Station and sat down on his desk, running through his daily list of tasks to accomplish.

There was still the mystery of that bounty hunter who had tried to kill the Exile on this station and Lieutenant Grenn's missing officer.

As always, he was stuck with reports of the Republic's shaky infrastructure.

He looked up and found his thoughts turned not towards his journey-bound love Revan, but towards his lost brother, knowing full well that he had gone missing during the battle on Dxun. He knew that Ulric had ran headfirst into a mission to eliminate the Mandalorian HQ that was coordinating the devastating strikes against the Republic lines. He also knew Grenn had taken part in that particular battle.

The mission had been an utter failure.

Grenn had been one of the few who survived due to the fact that the Jedi had finally breached the enemy's line and had managed to intercept that ambush in time.

"_Sir_," came the voice of his secretary.

He depressed a button. "Yes? What is it?"

"_We have received a parcel that has been specified for you._"

"What is it?"

"_It's in a box and it's a blaster, sir._"

_Who in the blazes could have sent me a blaster? _He sighed, bringing his index finger and thumb between his eyes, rubbing the edges. "I'm on my way."

He rose and walked out of the office and saw his secretary, who was dumbfounded.

"It's been addressed to you, sir," she said, not quite knowing what else to say.

Carth furrowed his brow and picked up the silver box. It wasn't large, but it was just the right size to carry a blaster pistol and a datapad. He opened it and saw that it was, in fact, a dark, worn blaster pistol and a datapad.

He narrowed his eyes, picking up the datapad with a message meant for him.

_Dear Admiral Onasi_,

_I trust that you are well. I regret that I must write to you like this, but until I solve that mystery for you, I will be unable to return to Citadel. On my journey, I've found something that has brought both you and I memories of the Wars. I have no doubt that you will be more than glad to have it in your possession once more. I acquired it on Dxun, where it had been left for almost thirteen years. Take care, Admiral, I trust that we will meet again soon._

_Sincerely,_

_General Oberon Kisho_

Carth's eyes went wide as he picked up the worn blaster and saw the Onasi family crest.

The Jedi Exile had been the one who had led the assault and had been the one to save Grenn. Unfortunately, the Exile hadn't been able to save Ulric Onasi.

_Ulric_, he thought. _I have missed you dearly_. _I know you would have wanted me to keep this as a reminder of all that we had been through. I know the folks would have been proud of you. I know I always will be._

He inhaled sharply, wiping away a forming tear, and returned with the box to his office. He looked out at space and remembered his last encounter with his younger brother. _We'll rebuild like always—your sacrifice will never be in vain_. _Years from now, people will still recall all of us as Brothers in Arms._


	3. The Hopeful

The Hopeful 

Dreshdae, the one place in the entire Galaxy that no one would wish to be. The little makeshift settlement somehow played a significant role in the events that had shaped the Galaxy to what it was at the very moment.

Dreshdae was home to rogues, criminals and other vagrants who wished to never be found or to conduct business away from the prying eyes of the rest of the Galaxy. The settlement was founded in the one place few would dare to tread, as both superstition and fact had instilled fear into the hearts of people. The settlement had been founded on the deathbed of the Sith homeworld Korriban.

He had arrived there but a few short moments ago, knowing full well that this planet was now home to a failing Academy that had inspired the rebirth of the Sith into a full blown Empire that was crumbling the might of the Republic.

Apparently sources had begun to say that Revan had risen once more and that she had begun to fight for the Republic.

He didn't care about what fate befell the Republic or the Sith Empire.

All he cared about was learning the secrets of the Force—an ability few possessed.

It took some time, but by allowing himself to be duped by his instructors within the dark Academy, Dustil had played into their hands by killing off his dear friend.

He only thought joining the Sith would give him power and make his hatred of his father raw.

Now he wasn't so sure, anymore.

His father had arrived with a mysterious woman and an old man, who had done in a week what even _he_ could not in the course of 3 years.

They had also proven to him that the Sith were not all they were cracked out to be.

The death of his friend had hurt the most, but he knew that his father did care for him by revealing the true nature of the Sith.

The old man had been worn and exhausted, while his features were weathered from the past years. It seemed that he had not taken the death of his family all too well.

_Could I blame him?_ He couldn't help but think, as he sat in the cantina, nursing his drink and contemplating his chances of leaving the Academy now that it was under new leadership.

He'd done what he could to hamper the Sith training, but lately, the Sith had been hunting down the spy.

Dustil knew his work was finished and that his only chance now was to escape.

He sat there, wearing a black cloak over his grey jumpsuit. It seemed apparent that even the Sith lacked style, even against their Jedi counterparts. _It's all come to an end, and in time, I will have no choice but to leave. _His eyes shifted upwards, towards the exit, where people casually walked through, as well as hopefuls that were eager to join the 'winning' side.

Dustil knew that they were only kidding themselves. He slowly began to understand that by once taking the darker path, it would consume the person for their entire life.

He couldn't help but shudder, feeling disgusted and a little frightened of what he would have become were he to completely give himself to the Dark Side.

Before he could even imagine what he would have looked like, however, three distinct presences stopped in front of him.

"Dustil," she said, her voice a light hiss and filled with arrogance. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you back at the Academy? Master Ban would kill you—we have an important lesson today: finding traitors within our midst."

His eyes moved to her, as he made out her counterparts.

Both of them happened to be male. One was human; the other was a green twi'lek with a lekku wrapped around his throat.

"So why aren't you in the Academy then, Lashowe?"

She appeared taken aback by his sudden question.

The young man had always been a favourite of the teachers and therefore was deemed an untouchable, but it appeared as if he just didn't care at all.

"What did you say to me?"

His eyes met hers, cold glare for cold glare, as he repeated his question solidly. "Why…aren't…you…in…the…Academy?"

Her upper lip twitched and began to curl up before she replied, "the Masters want me to go and collect everyone. Besides, it also allows us a bit of fun, doesn't it, loner?"

_Loner_. The words stung slightly, coming even from someone such as Lashowe. He downed the last of his beverage and continued to wonder whether or not it was worth doing anything anymore. The Republic surely wouldn't have him; the Hopefuls would pounce on him, eager to get Lashowe's approval, and more importantly, Dustil wasn't sure whether or not he had it in him to give a damn about the Sith and all that he thought he once believed in.

He was too tired to accept being angry all the time.

He was too exhausted to worry about any repercussions.

Dustil just didn't have it in him to care.

He just couldn't care.

Lashowe's male counterparts sniggered derisively, eager to gain her approval as well.

_Sniveling fools_, Dustil thought. _Too eager to be accepted and not enough brains to know that they'll never be accepted. They're fools if they think that they can continue to hope. Abandoning hope is one of the things that make the Sith the Sith. Ironically, having hope is one of the things that make the Sith continue to reign down punishment on the Republic. _

"Are you sad and lonely now that your only friend is dead and gone? What happened to her? Oh yes, the tuk'ata incident." Lashowe smiled, enjoying her own idea of mentally torturing the young Onasi. "Seems they enjoy playing 'fetch' with her bones."

This garnered more laughs out of her pair of leeches.

It also garnered a few laughs from the trio of Hopefuls that appeared, eager to gain Lashowe's approval.

Dustil felt his blood boil at the thought of them insulting his close friend. _She may have been weaker in the Force, but she was someone dear to me. _He found himself growing angry, as they laughed in his face. He looked up at them, finding a calm, as he knew that this must have been how his father felt losing everyone so close to him and still having to fight the odds everyday of his life, until he found Dustil.

_The old man's right_, he determined, albeit reluctantly. _The Sith are evil—taking delights in the suffering of others and by trying to cover up for the fact that they are derived from failures in the Jedi Order. The Dark Side is not powerful, it is merely the idea that they cannot control what they fear and thus, they make the illusion that they control the Dark Side._

Lashowe continued to laugh, as she threw biting remarks at him.

He casually ran a hand through his hair, rising and calmly saying, "you can go ahead and make fun of me, Lashowe, but we both know that you're merely trying to cover up for the fact that you're unsure of yourself."

"What!" She hissed, looking as if she had been slapped in the face.

"What? It's true," he said, shrugging. "Why do you think you need to have people hang on to you? You're desperate—you never _were_ Sith material. That's why you've been an initiate for far longer than me."

They all grew silent, and the Hopefuls began to look at one another and between Onasi and the trio of Sith.

Even the patrons in the cantina had grown eerily silent.

"You shut your mouth, whelp!" Lashowe's pale face had become distinctly red, either with embarrassment or anger.

Either way, it didn't bother Dustil. "You seem to be losing your cool. I figure that's all right, since the Sith are derived from failures."

She grew angrier.

Dustil knew she wouldn't make a move. She was nothing compared to his abilities, which had far surpassed her own several weeks ago.

He didn't care about her biting remarks. He merely tried to reveal the true, weak, pathetic creature within her and hope that perhaps she would learn.

Lashowe, growing angry, was facing two choices: leave and lose face, or kill the Onasi brat where he stood.

Dustil faced her with a serene calm, and knew what her decision would be.

The Hopefuls looked on with anticipation, eager to see who would win out the day.

Lashowe, for all her bark and bluster, finally lived up to her word. She withdrew her lightsaber, along with her compatriots. The _snap-hiss_ in the room caused everyone to take a step back.

Dustil opened himself to that calm and trusted in the Force to let things work out the way they would. He had removed his own lightsaber and in the same movement, he ignited his blade.

Everyone gasped.

Dustil's blade had not been the crimson blade it had been but a few short days ago.

It was, in fact, a pure shaft of blue. A parting gift from the lady, old man and his father.

"You're a Jedi!" One of the Hopefuls exclaimed.

"He's no Jedi," Lashowe barked, her lips parted and revealing sharp cruel teeth. "I've been looking forward to this for a _long_ time."

Dustil found a new strength in him, one that was eager to protect the patrons and to reveal that the way of the Sith was not the correct path to follow. "I have no doubt that you have."

She lunged at him, followed by the others.

_The people in here_, Dustil found himself thinking, _they need to be protected from this—even if some are vagrants._ He dodged the cleaves and rolled out, away from the cantina and towards the adjoining hallway.

The table where he had once sat, however, had been cleaved into three molten pieces of slag.

Dustil brought his lightsaber up, blocking the blow of Lashowe's blade, as he sent her flying back.

Then the twi'lek was upon him, his expression revealing his long awaited eagerness in killing the young man. "Soon I shall have her to myself," he said, licking his lips as they struggled in their lock.

"Maybe," Dustil managed, feeling the third presence moving towards him, along with the rising Lashowe. "But let's see how she likes you when you're missing a limb!" He summoned all of his strength in his body and shoved their blades away, causing the twi'lek to lose balance, as Dustil quickly slashed down.

The clanking of the twi'lek's lightsaber and his forearm, had put the humanoid out of the fight—along with his screaming.

Dustil pivoted on his hips and extended his right leg, sending his maimed opponent away and out of the fight.

Now it was just two.

They came at him, their blades a flurry of crimson death, forcing the younger Onasi to block with everything in him.

He continued to feel that embracing calm, and he opened himself more to it, allowing the Force to guide his movements.

The distinct presences of the three Hopefuls turned around the corner to watch the duel.

There were other presences that were making their way towards the fight.

Dustil continued to backpedal, as he blocked their strikes, whirling his blade in arcs and attempting to catch them off-balance.

Lashowe leapt over him and brought her blade to rake up his spine.

Dustil, with the Force as his ally, caught the strike deftly and snapped out with his elbow, knocking the brash woman back and face first into the wall.

The male human came at Dustil with an overhead swing, hoping to take the young man down at that moment.

Dustil brought his blade up horizontally and blocked it, while he pirouetted and slapped the crimson lightsaber away.

The man took an involuntary step back, losing his own balance.

Dustil seized the moment and crouched, impaling his blade through the man's thigh, which was followed by a howl of pain. Quickly removing the blade, he rose and spun about in the opposite direction and with a casual flick of the wrist, he eliminated the hands of his second opponent.

The man shrieked in more pain and found himself flying away from the fight.

Dustil brought his blade up in front of him, the blue shaft of energy thrumming at an angle towards his left.

Lashowe rose, wiping the small bit of blood from the corner of her lips. "you'll pay for that."

"It's over Lashowe," Dustil said calmly. "She may have died, but I know she is one with the Force—the _true_ Force. You are beaten and it is useless to resist. Give up now and leave, the Force is my ally."

Lashowe growled, angry and too proud to accept the fact someone who wasn't eager to use the Dark Side of the Force had beaten her.

"It's over, Lashowe," Dustil repeated, firmly, "accept it: you've lost."

"Never!" She screamed, as she raced at him, swinging her blade wildly and with reckless abandon.

Dustil continued to deflect each swing, sometimes missing another one completely, as he continued to defend himself against her.

She slashed at him, and watched helplessly as he parried the blow. She sent a wave of the Force to throw him off balance, but he accepted it and walked _through_ it.

Dustil continued to block her flurries and even block against a powerful attack as she leapt high into the air and brought her blade down on him with all of her might.

He locked blades with her for a moment, taking the time to angle the blade away as he snapped out with his elbow, hitting her nose with a sickening thud.

She cried out and stumbled back, looking at him and wincing through the pain. She brought one hand up and touched her sensitive and pained nose. She hissed as she moved her hand away and caught a look at the blood that had covered her hand. Her gaze shifted to Dustil, who appeared ready to defend himself. Her eyes became narrow slits as she said, "you'll pay for that."

He sighed, knowing she would not give up so easily once she had finally committed herself to fighting against him. He took comfort, however, that the Force was giving him some purpose. He no longer cared about inflicting pain for pleasure. Rather, he found himself elated with a steely resolve that the Dark Side no longer held any grip on him. _I won't fail you Father, and I certainly won't fail you, Selene._

Lashowe renewed her flurry of attacks, causing Dustil to spin his blade in his hands and continue to block each slash at his chest and legs.

"I won't be beaten," she hissed at him, as she launched her blade into a figure eight pattern, forcing Dustil to do the same.

He locked his eyes on her, as he continued to move his blade at a deadly pace. "You've only beaten yourself," he said, his voice filled with resolve.

She opened her mouth to reply, but found herself squealing in pain as heat seared through her wrist. She closed her eyes shut and collapsed, only to open them a moment later and see her right hand on the floor next to her. "My hand!" She screamed.

Dustil deactivated his blade, holstering it to his belt. "I am sorry, Lashowe, but you have to be stopped. I've spared your life—be thankful that I am not going to kill you. Leave now—you've only confirmed that the Dark Side is not worth living with. The price would be too much." He turned to leave, only to see no sign of the three Hopefuls.

_Perhaps they have already left to return to the Jedi. Perhaps they seek forgiveness from the Masters._ He sighed, bringing his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose.

"No!" She shrieked, while she rose. "I won't be beaten!"

Dustil turned around and faced the bewildered and hysterical young woman.

Lashowe raised her remaining hand and tried to close a fist on him.

Dustil felt his throat constrict for a moment, as he brought a hand up to his neck, seeking to free himself from the invisible vise-like grip.

She panted heavily, her face filled with murderous rage as she continued to savour causing pain and suffering to Dustil. "You're going to _pay_ for that!"

_Relax_, came a voice to his ears.

Dustil tried to speak and fight against the pain, only to hear the voice again.

_Relax, Dustil_.

He tried to speak, but a light gurgle started to come from his voice.

_Relax, Dustil. Trust in the Force, my friend._

It was the warm and comforting voice of the friend he had convinced to join him. It was the friend who had died in the freak accident with the tuk'ata. It was Selene.

_Relax, my friend, you are at peace. The Force is embracing you, now you must trust in it. _

He relaxed his grip, feeling the crushing weight squeeze more of his precious air from his body.

Lashowe began to laugh sadistically, as she watched him struggle in pain.

His veins in his temples had begun to bulge.

_Good, now reach within you. There is an old family legacy that is a part of you. A gift, from your father, who loves you dearly. Take it and know that you must do what must be done. She is far too gone, my friend. Nothing will save her._

"Se—Se--," he managed.

"What?" Lashowe asked him, smiling gleefully. "I can't hear you. You must have something stopping you from speaking." She laughed again.

"Sel—Selene," he rasped.

She gasped and tightened her grip.

Dustil closed his eyes and felt a warmth rush over him. There was something hanging from his belt. He couldn't grab his lightsaber, but he could grab the other thing.

He touched with the Force again, eager to feel what the other thing was.

It was coarse, worn and holstered on his hip. It was old, trustworthy and a legacy of his family. It was another present his father had given him, as a means of saying that he did love his son and trust him.

Dustil reached for the Force, strengthening his resolve as he found the will to live win out over his weaknesses. He knew Selene was contacting him and he knew that the Galaxy needed to be healed after these dark times. He knew he would be instrumental and that he would forever follow the Force, wherever it may lead him.

Lashowe's eyes went wide as she saw a black blur reach into Dustil's hand.

Dustil opened his eyes and brought the blaster up and fired.

A single crimson bolt slammed right between Lashowe's eyes, sending her collapsing to the ground in one smoking heap.

Dustil felt his constricted lungs open wide and he sucked in precious mouthfuls of air as he coughed and wheezed.

He fell to the ground, on all fours as he continued to suck on precious air. His eyes shifted to the object in his hand. It was the worn blaster of his family. It was his father's blaster and the blaster his father's father had used. It was the Onasi family blaster.

_Trust in the Force,_ came the voice, almost as if it were a whisper.

"Selene," he whispered back, looking at the blaster. "I'm so sorry." He could feel tears starting to form near his eyes. "I am so sorry, my friend. Could you ever forgive me?"

_Of course_, the voice replied, as it dissipated.

Dustil felt a little weak, but far more stronger than he had been when he wallowed in his own hatred.

Almost as if to pull him away from his thoughts, the footsteps of clanking metal were rushing towards him.

He inhaled deeply and rose, wiping any tears from his eyes. He knew the Sith would come back for him. Now he had to make his stand before they would attempt to take him again.

A group of silver and black clad Sith soldiers ran towards him, blasters raised. "Halt!" One of them ordered.

Dustil kept his blaster in his left hand and withdrew his lightsaber, igniting it.

"Hold!" Yelled a commanding voice from behind.

The soldiers kept their blasters trained on Dustil, while the young man kept himself in a defensive posture.

The Onasi blaster was primed and ready.

"I said 'hold!'" The voice yelled again. It was obviously feminine and had Dustil wondering where he had heard it before.

And there came the footsteps, followed by the figure of a lithe and beautiful purple twi'lek. Her beauty was only matched by her deadliness and it made Dustil wonder what was going on in Yuthura Ban's mind.

"Don't kill him!" She moved towards the captain of the group of Sith. "Do _not_ shoot him! He's on a mission from Lord Malak himself! If you kill him, I assure you, the Dark Lord will not be pleased."

The soldiers began to look at one another and the captain spoke, his voice fearful of retribution. "I, uh, am sorry, Mistress. We, uh, heard, that there was, um, a fight and it involved a Jedi."

Yuthura rolled her eyes. "Of course it would seem like that, fool. But this man is on a secret assignment, hunting down for insurgents within our ranks!" She glared at the captain icily. "Do you want to be the one to tell Lord Malak that you hampered his goal of ensuring total loyalty?"

"N-no, ma'am."

"Good," Yuthura hissed, "now get your men out of my sight and get rid of those bodies!"

The soldiers did what she said rather quickly, eager not to suffer the retribution of the new head of the Sith Academy.

Dustil kept his lightsaber poised, along with his blaster.

Yuthura looked at him and sighed. "Are you going to lower your weapons now?"

His eyes narrowed. "What's your angle?"

She scowled at him. "There is no angle. Let's just say that your father has some interesting friends and that--," she looked a bit apprehensive, "well, let's just say that they taught me that there is no point to being a shadow of what I once was."

He lowered his lightsaber, and probed her mind through the Force. To his surprise, she allowed him to and he sensed no deception, only truth. "So what was with the 'I'm working with Malak' bit about?"

She cocked an brow at him. "Listen, kid, sometimes we just need a cover to save ourselves from certain death." She flashed a smile at him, "unless of course you'd want me to call them back and recant that statement?"

He shook his head and deactivated his blade and holstered it, along with his blaster. "No thanks."

She looked at him, earnestly. "I have no love for the Dark Side. For the last three years it has covered my life and I've never felt as complete as when I once was a Jedi."

He looked at her, still unsure of her intentions, but sensing no deception.

She sighed. "Come on, kid. I know that you feel the same way."

They began to walk away, towards the starport in hopes of catching a ship away from the deathbed of the Sith.

Dustil found himself liking the woman in an instant. There was something about her that caused him to feel relaxed. "Think the Jedi will take a pair of Hopefuls such as you and I?"

She wrapped an arm around him and leaned in and whispered, "between you and me, I think they would love to take us back. The Light is far more embracing than you could ever imagine, kid, believe me."

He smiled, knowing that he was free from Korriban and its grasp, as well as whatever fate befell the Sith Academy.

The Force would guide him to his destiny, and he knew that whatever the Force had in store for him, he would know no fear.

* * *

**Author's Notes: I hope you liked this one. I know it didn't really do much with the Onasi Blaster, but I guess I was just curious about what Dustil would have done with it on Korriban. Stay tuned for the last two Onasi Blaster fics. If you really want to request a fic or one-shot about anything in KOTOR, send it toTrillian4210's 'Request a Fic' Forums.**


	4. Every Generation has a Story

Every Generation has a Story

"I want you to have it," he said to his son, who had just joined the Republic Navy. "You're old enough to use it and you'll need it."

He looked at his father, his eyes brimming with tears. "Dad, I can't accept--,"

The older man raised his hand out to stop him from rejecting it. "I won't take 'no' for an answer, Carth. This blaster has been in the Onasi family for as long as the Onasi family has been in the Republic Navy. It is an heirloom and she's saved my life more than once. This weapon saved your grandfather, your great-grandfather and his father before him."

Young Carth Onasi tried to smile, unsure of how to take the heirloom his father was adamant on giving. He wasn't sure what good a worn old blaster would do against any of the modern foes they faced. Then again, advancements had been made in the Tibanna Gas industry, so the blaster packs were the only ones that boosted the power in the weapons—old and new.

"Carth?" A warm voice called to him.

He awoke from his reverie and stared at his mother, who smiled at him warmly.

Her hair was silver, her face creased with lines these days. "Take it, please."

"I—I don't know what to say, Dad." Carth searched for some clue as to how he felt. His eyes meandered across the living room, where there was nothing but old, worn tables, the carpets that had been there since before he was born. This home had been the Onasi family home for more generations.

Surely he couldn't take the home with him, but the blaster was a legacy of the Onasi men and women who had stories to tell of how it had saved their lives. Even if the Onasi family had not been a part of the Republic Navy, it had still served those who were in the Telosian Security Forces.

Carth felt the hard clasp of his father's hand on his shoulder.

"Son, did I ever tell you what happened to me when I was off fighting the Krath six months before you were born?"

Carth shook his head. _I've heard every story, but the Krath? This is new, even for me._

The old man sat down in the chair beside his son, who sipped from a cup of warm Telosian tea his mother had made for him.

It warmed him and he felt himself coming to miss his home before he could even leave.

"Do you want any cake, Dear?" She asked Carth, who shook his head. She turned to face her husband, but she could tell he was already enamored in the tale he was about to weave in front of their own son. She smiled to herself and sat down.

"Years ago, when I was with your Uncle Dasi in the Navy, we encountered a heavy Krath warship. This was just before that whole Sith fiasco." He shook his head, throwing off those nightmares and phantoms from the Jedi War that followed soon after the Krath war. "Well, we were on board a cruiser, which came under fire. There was no warning, no mercy and before we knew it, we were plunged into a war that we thought would tear the Republic asunder."

Carth nodded, and sipped his tea.

"Well, your Uncle and I threw on our uniforms and hopped into our fighters. We fought against them for hours, but the losses and the surprise was just too great." The older man sighed, his eyes drifting off back to that time. His voice became softer. "Your Uncle and I managed to evade their automated defences and fired off a salvo of torpedoes—everything we had." His fist slammed across his palm.

Carth smiled, imaging his father as a younger man fighting a war back in those days.

"We took out that warship and those Krath scum before they could muster another assault." He sighed, "but the cost was too great. We saved as many lives as we could, but the remaining fighters came at us and we were shot down." He looked at his wife, who gently rubbed his shoulder. "Could you get us something to eat, Dear?"

She nodded and rose, eager to get into the kitchen.

The old man looked back at Carth and smiled. "She's always been a sweetheart, your mum. I don't know where I'd be without her."

The new recruit merely smiled back.

"Well, we crashed on a remote planet—thankfully the battle took us at Yavin. This was before the Sith—I said that, didn't I?"

Carth nodded patiently.

The blaster was in the center of the table.

"Well, your Uncle and I managed to escape safely, but we knew it would only be a matter of time before the Krath sent out a war party. We cut our way through the jungle, escaped a few nasty animals here and there for three days. One night, when we were asleep, they came." He sighed, resting his elbows on the table and cupping his hands under his chin. "They got to your Uncle first. He bought me time to escape and well…they…their monsters, those Krath. They may walk like us, talk like us, but they were animals. They fought your Uncle down and cut him with knives. He didn't stand a chance."

Carth felt his skin tingle and the hairs rise at the back of his neck. He watched his father wipe something from the corner of his eye as he undoubtedly remembered watching his older brother fight off the Krath.

"Before he let me escape, he gave me a present from our father." He gestured towards the blaster.

"It saved your life?" Carth asked, hinting at the point and hoping to spare his father the agony of reliving the moment.

He nodded. "I managed to take down the leader with a single bolt to the head. The rest of the Krath were disorganized and I picked them off one by one." He lowered his head. "I made it back to the site where they murdered your Uncle and I buried him there. The fleet came back for me twelve hours later. Turns out the Krath had been pushed back by the Jedi. Bought us some time."

"Oh Dad," Carth began, only to have his father shake his head.

"No, Carth. This is not just a weapon. It's an extension of yourself. As long as you have it, it will keep you safe and it will protect you for generations. Your Uncle had always hoped that you would be old enough to take it off his hands when you joined the Republic Navy. He had hoped he could hear the stories that you would have once it saved your life."

"But, Dad, what happens if--,"

"If what?" He looked at his son incredulously. "If someone broke into the home? Telos is a peaceful planet—almost as peaceful as Alderaan. Besides, your Aunt Sekona has two of her boys working in the TSF. We'll be fine."

Carth sighed.

His mother came in, with another cup of tea for his father and he sipped it gratefully and kissed her on the cheek. "Carth," she said, "there will come a time when you will have a little boy or girl and you will want to give them a legacy. This blaster has been waiting for you until you were old enough. Now that you are, you can have something to keep as a reminder of us and the future. As long as you have it, you'll never be alone." She cupped his face and kissed his forehead.

"Aw, Mum," Carth began to protest, but she embraced him. "All right, fine, fine, I'll take it."

She let go and smiled and kissed him again, causing him to groan again. "I knew you would, Dear."

"Trust me, Carth. It will keep you safe for years to come."

Carth nodded solemnly. "All right, Old Man, I trust you. Tomorrow I ship out and I'll keep it close to me—as a reminder of you and Mum."

The old man smiled. "I believe it's time for bed now. You've got to catch an early flight."

Carth smiled and downed the last contents of his tea into his gullet before he rose and raced to his room.

The old man sat there for a while, before he glanced at his wife. "You know, Marta, I think Carth will do all right."

She smiled at him. "I know, he has much of his father in him."

The old man chuckled and caressed her hand.

* * *

_17 Years Later_

Captain Carth Onasi walked aboard the bridge of the Republic Cruiser _Endar Spire_ with purpose and with impatience. "What's taking so long?" He muttered to himself. His hand stroked the blaster holstered on his belt.

"Sir?" One of the officers asked him.

"Oh. Nothing," Carth replied, turning to face the officer behind him. "I'm just a little rattled I guess."

"I understand, sir," he replied, smiling at his commanding officer. "We'll be arriving to Taris in approximately thirty-six minutes and twenty seconds."

Carth nodded. "Thanks." He looked at the swirl of hyperspace and glanced at the officer again. "How's the Jedi doing?"

He shrugged, "they seem pretty on the level."

Carth snorted, "yeah, unless of course you're an officer and commander of a vessel."

The officer nodded changed the arc of the conversation. "Have you heard about those new Mon Calamari designs that were presented to the Republic Navy?"

Carth nodded, "yeah, I heard they were shot down as soon as the schematics were shown."

"Why's that?"

"Have you ever seen one of those Mon Cal ships?"

The officer shook his head.

Carth smiled, "well, they're beautiful as can be. They can even take a beating, from what I've heard. And if we added our weapons to them, we'd be more than a match for the Sith."

The officer furrowed his brow in puzzlement. "So why'd Brass axe the design?"

"They're too expensive—especially the way we are right now. I figure it will be about a thousand years before the Republic could incorporate that design—if ever."

"Will there be anything left of the Republic in a thousand years to buy something like that?"

Carth shrugged. "I don't know. Let's just focus on making sure that never happens."

The officer nodded and returned to his console.

Carth walked out of the bridge, allowing the Commander some time to command the ship before it reached Taris. His mind had been wandering back to his father and the last words he had spoken before he had joined the Republic Navy.

The man shook his head and glanced at his blaster.

It had been some time since he had thought of his old man.

War tended to give one few moments of peace and quiet. It had only been six months into his training when he had heard of his father's passing. Soon after that, the Mandalorians had invaded and it was havoc that was wrought all across the Galaxy.

It took almost two years, but finally the Jedi had intervened with Revan at the forefront. She had been the one who had put a stop to the Mandalorians, shortly before she had a power trip.

Now Carth was stuck fighting the Sith in a war that did not go favourably for the Republic and Jedi Order.

And what's more, he was stuck on board of his command ship with a group of Jedi and a few mercenaries that were aboard.

He fondled the grip of the worn blaster by his side again. His eyes went to it. _Boy, have I got stories for you, Dad._ He sighed and continued to walk throughout the austere and white hallways. His mind was turned to Telos and the loss of his family, parents and wife and son alike. His fist tightened around the pistol, shortly before he holstered it. _I will fulfill my promise,_ he vowed. _I will make sure Saul pays dearly—and with this blaster._ His hand patted the blaster with care and he continued walking.

Suddenly the ship lurched, causing him to stumble and fall, along with the officers and few Jedi in the hallway.

"What in the blazes is going on?" He muttered as he hoisted himself up and glanced at the others who were doing likewise.

He turned and walked towards a control panel and tapped the controls. "Onasi here, what the frell is going on? I thought we weren't due to Taris for another half hour?"

The ship shuddered.

_What the frack?_ He tapped the key again, "Onasi to Bridge, what is going on? Please respond."

There was no answer.

He looked at the others who were unsure of what was going on.

The ship shuddered and this time it was much harder, causing the panel to explode in a shower of sparks, forcing Carth to throw himself away from it.

Rising, he faced the others. "Get to your stations now! We're under attack!" Not sticking around to see if they would listen, he raced back towards the bridge in the hopes of looking for survivors and to see if this was a battle they could get out of. He continued to wind through the corridors as the ship shuddered again. _What in the blazes is going on?_ _Why haven't we started returning fire? Is the defence grid offline?_

He continued to race through the possibilities in his mind as he entered the bridge doors and paused at the scene.

Bodies were strewn across the floor.

The first salvo had been designed to crush most of the systems operated out of the bridge.

He raced towards the console he had been but a few moments earlier, chatting with the officer who was now slumped lifelessly on it. His heart sagged at the death of his fellow officers, but this was no time to mourn. He unceremoniously moved the body away from the console and raced through the sensor logs.

His face paled and he could feel his heart grow cold. "Oh Sithspawn."

There was an entire fleet of Sith warships being led by Darth Malak's _Leviathan_.

The flagship had more than likely been the one that pulled the _Spire_ out of hyperspace.

There would only be one reason why Malak would have a fleet sitting there at Taris waiting for the _Spire_: Bastila.

She had caught the eye of the Dark Lord of the Sith for some time and he was relentless in pursuing her all over the Galaxy.

What's more, Carth couldn't help but feel that there was someone who had tipped the Sith off. No one, save for the top Brass, the Jedi Order and the mercenaries onboard, knew Bastila was on board.

He narrowed his eyes, but quickly dismissed the thought as the ship lurched again. He moved to another control and activated the communications panel, shortly before a console beeped, signaling that the Sith had boarded. He sighed and began his speech. "All hands, this Carth Onasi. The Sith have begun their attack and we're lost. Get to your escape pods and abandon ship. I've set a course to Taris—hopefully that will cut the time in half. May the Force be with us all."

The ship lurched again and he leapt over a group of other consoles and crumpled forms. He cast the bodies aside and tapped away at the consoles, activating the defences of the ship and hoping it would buy those in the pods some time before the Sith would either shoot them down or capture them.

The mechanical whine of energy began to hum throughout the ship, as the turbolasers fought against the swarm of fighters that came at them.

He sighed again and went back to the comlink. He checked the status of the pods and then switched to all personal comlinks. "Is there anyone still alive in the _Spire?_" He waited several moments. _No one's left. Time to go._ The ship shuddered again and a compartment collapsed, crushing the helm's controls with an audible crackle and sizzle.

_Definitely time to go._ He began to turn around and leave, until his comlink went off. "What the?" He picked it up and activated it. "Onasi here. Didn't think anyone else was left alive."

"_Qiana Revanche, what's going on?_" Came a feminine voice that sounded almost as if she had woken up a few moments ago.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. _She's definitely not one of mine_. His finger tapped a switch and he spoke into the comlink. "The Sith have boarded the ship and overrun our defences. We need to go. Where are you right now?"

"_I'm near the bridge,_" she replied.

He let out a low growl and turned to face the console. "All right, get into the bridge—you'll need to pass a group of Sith with a stealth belt or something else."

"_I've got something planned for them_," she said softly.

Carth could have sworn he heard a smile underneath that tone. _Definitely not one of mine. Could she be one of the Jedi or mercenaries?_ He shook his head. _Now's not the time._ He waited a few moments, until he heard the bridge doors open. With twice an expert's speed, Carth withdrew his blaster and trained on the figure that now stood there.

She stood proudly, with her two swords casually twirling in her hands. Her long black hair was tied back and she stood a few inches shorter than him. Her dark eyes glinted with the promise of vengeance for…someone.

As he looked closely, he realized the blades were lightly dripping in blood. _Definitely a mercenary._ He kept his blaster trained on her for a few more moments before she looked at him and spoke up.

"Hello to you too. Onasi, right?"

He nodded, keeping his blaster trained on her.

She smiled widely. "Qiana Revanche. Pleased to meet you."

He nodded again, blaster trained.

She paused for a moment, the ship still shuddering as her eyes locked with his. "Are you going to lower your weapon? I'm a friendly."

Slowly, but surely, he lowered his blaster. "All right, let's go." He gestured to her towards a pair of doors. "You first."

She nodded and continued towards the door, opening it as they walked into a group of unwary Sith.

Everything when slow and Carth pulled out his blaster and lined up a shot, squeezing the trigger and landing a thin scarlet streak into the faceplate of his opponent. He ducked and rolled towards a long desk, while his eyes moved to Qiana, who raced across the room in a blur and had already slashed the throat of one poor soldier, who fumbled for his sword.

She was like a killing machine, attacking with a grace matched only by her killing efficiency.

Three of the Sith had gone down by Qianna before Carth had fired his blaster at the final figure.

Carth kept his blaster leveled until he made sure no one was getting up.

"Nice job," she said, as she twirled her swords in her hands again.

"You too," he replied.

She grinned and moved towards the door, along with him.

They tapped it open and Carth went in first, glancing around before he said, "all clear." He turned around to face her, and she merely smiled at him.

Then he saw it.

"Down!" He screamed, bringing his blaster up.

She took an involuntary step back before she felt a sharp pain lance into her shoulder blade.

Carth managed to knock her aside, but he could already smell the burned flesh that roiled off her from the blast she took. He drew a bead on the Sith who was barely rising.

The Sith watched Carth draw a bead.

He squeezed the trigger.

A loud energy discharge lanced across the room and struck him in the forehead.

The Sith slumped to the ground almost as if he were a bag of dead weight.

Carth narrowed his eyes and then holstered his pistol. He looked at Qiana, who had slowly risen, but was moaning in pain. _Of all the times,_ he couldn't help but think.

He looked around the area, looking for what he hoped would be a medpac. Spotting a small bulge near a group of fallen Republic soldiers, he raced towards it and rolled the body over. He couldn't help but smile as he saw the boxy packet. He opened it and pulled out a kolto strip.

Qiana had risen but found herself hard-pressed having to support herself with the one sword in her current possession. The other blade had been sent clattering off to the far corner of the room.

The ship shuddered more fervently this time.

She managed to support herself towards the debris covered table, and after wiping away some larger pieces, she began to lay down partly on her stomach.

"Hold still," he said as he raced towards her. He began to lift her shirt up to survey the damage to her body, causing her to flinch. Taking a step back, he raised his arms up in a peaceful gesture. "I'm not going to hurt you. I need to apply this to you—unless of course you want to bleed all over the floor and the pod."

Reluctantly, she sighed and turned back to face the table. "All right, but be careful. If I feel anything straying away from my shoulder blades, I'm going to cut it off."

He cautiously lifted her shirt, holding it with one hand and guided the bandage in the other towards the wound.

She winced and squealed as she felt the cool touch of the patch touch her wound, while she felt the warmth of his hand on her back. It seemed to be there for a little bit longer than she had hoped. "While you're at it, would you like to scratch my back?"

"There, you're cured," he growled, letting go of his grip on the shirt and removing his hands. "Now let's go."

She rose, still feeling a bit groggy, though she couldn't help but feel better from the effects of the patch taking effect. "Kolto," she muttered, "works wonders."

Carth moved towards the pod and tapped away at the keys before he glanced at her.

"I'm sure you do too, flyboy," she replied, smiling widely again at him.

Stifling a wisecrack at the mercenary, he merely stated, "looks like there's one pod left. We better take it—we're the only ones left here."

She nodded.

Carth gestured to the interior of the pod. "After you."

She rolled her eyes. "I guess you really take pride in your chivalry, don't you flyboy?"

He inhaled sharply and spoke through clenched teeth. "We don't have time for this. I've seen more than my share of good people die. _A lot_ more good than I'm sure you've got in your whole pinky. Now move it."

She sighed and entered the pod, followed by Carth a few moments later.

_I definitely have some stories for you, Old Man_, he couldn't help but think as the pod ejected and sent them sprawling towards the decaying central hub of Taris.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Well, after a long hiatus, this has finally come about. The final one shall come around soon enough. I hope you enjoyed this.**


	5. Parting Gift

**Author's Notes: Well, this is it, the finale. This is the final installment to the Onasi Legacy. Be warned though, there is no killing, maiming or even so much as violence, save for the odd kick or punch. This is more...well, I think you'll figure it out when you read it.**

* * *

Parting Gift

He heard her screaming and panting as she sat up. She was soaked thoroughly, the sweat permeating through the sheets and her clothes. Her hair was matted, her hands placed between her breasts, almost as if she were attempting to hold her heart in her hands.

_Another nightmare_, he couldn't help but think, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the mounted chronometer on the table beside him.

_Another night lost_.

He glanced at her, the rays of indigo shining through the slits in their otherwise silver room.

He couldn't help but yawn, try as he might to stifle it. "Hey there, Beautiful," he whispered lazily, his hand resting on her shoulder, trying to calm her before she began hyperventilating. "Another nightmare?"

She nodded slowly.

Carth could feel her trying to slow her breathing and calm down. "It's all right, Qiana," he said softly, "it was only a nightmare." _As if_, he couldn't help but think. _It's been like this for two months and today is the one-year anniversary of Malak's death and the fall of the Sith. Something doesn't feel right and I don't like it._

She sighed, slowly controlling her breathing until she ran a hand through her damp hair and brought the other to clasp his hand still resting on her shoulder. "I know," she said, turning to see him, and attempting to form a smile on her face. She wiped a few more of the tears from her silvery eyes and lay down closer to Carth. "I know," she whispered.

He sighed, thought not in relief. He knew it would only be a matter of time before she had another nightmare. She had three the night before; one or two during the other nights, but they had become frequent as of late. He glanced over at her and watched as she lay nestled close to him, her face on his chest.

"Good night, Beautiful," he whispered, kissing her hair.

"Night," she whispered, her breathing back to normal and her fingers gently ruffling his chest hair.

_I'll have to talk to Bastila first thing tomorrow_, he thought. _Hopefully she'll know what's going on._ He glanced at her again, seeing her rest peacefully on his chest and in his arms. _Something's been taking its toll on her. Is it Malak's death? What is it?_

He continued rummaging through his mind for a few more moments until she grunted and shook her head to make herself more comfortable on his chest.

He looked up at the smooth, silver ceiling. _Better get some sleep, Onasi_. He closed his eyes, knowing that she'd feel much better in the morning. After all, it was only four more hours until sunrise. What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

She startled him with a jolt, as she leapt out of bed, screaming and waving her hands.

His eyes went wide and he sat up, looking at her until he felt something sting him across the cheek. Rubbing it, he couldn't help but notice objects fluttering around the room in midair and at a quickened pace. _Oh fierfek_.

Jumping out of bed, he grabbed her arms, yelling, "Qiana! Calm down! Qiana, it was only a dream! It's me: Carth. Come on, you're on Coruscant now. You're no longer beyond the Outer Rim."

His head shot up, not from the uppercut that connected with his jaw, but from the sudden realization he didn't know where she had gone during the Outer Rim. Any number of things could have happened and he just didn't know what he could do when there was something she wasn't telling him and she couldn't control.

Luckily for him, he landed on the bed, shortly before he tumbled off it again.

By this time, he heard the clattering of objects finally stop and instead, heard them hit the carpeted floor.

"Carth!"

He heard her scream out for his name again, though he couldn't be sure how many times she had called out his name. Before he knew it, she was holding his face, while he was seeing two, no _three_ Qianas standing before him.

_Better make that five._

"Ugh," he managed, "what happened? I feel like I've been hit by an enraged Wookiee." He rubbed his head and realized he had been hit in the jaw. It would have explained why rubbing his head was doing nothing to dull the pain that was throbbing in his jaw. "Zaalbar's not here, is he?"

His eyes returned to the person before him and he remembered what had happened. "You punched me."

She cast him a smile, albeit a small one. "You can talk. That's a good sign."

Shaking his head, he rose. "What happened?"

"Another bad dream," she answered quickly, her hands tending to his face and the cut on his chest that took him a moment to register.

He felt a warm tingling on his mouth and chest. It took everything in him not to giggle. The Force had a strange way with healing people, and he remembered his time traveling with Qiana, before she had been revealed as Revan. She had healed a particularly bad blaster wound to his stomach.

She had to slap him several times to stop his giggling.

Only the Force could bring out the child in the vaunted 'Carth Onasi: Hero of the Republic.'

"What happened?" He asked again.

She glanced at him and repeated herself, "bad dream. It's over now."

He shook his head, "no, that's not what I mean. What was your dream?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. It comes and goes."

"Qiana," he said flatly, "I want to know." He'd never been comfortable calling her 'Revan.' There were just too many bad memories associated with that name, and he thought he was giving her a bit of relief from the name the rest of the Galaxy knew her by, rather than adding to it.

The sad truth of it all, however, was that every time he heard someone mention Qiana by her former name, he found flashbacks of his memories of Morgana and Dustil, shortly before he saw his home in ruins and his planet on fire.

"I'm fine, Carth. Really."

He blinked once, and then twice and still continued his plain stare.

"Really," she repeated; her eyes boring into his.

He shrugged, "fine." He rose and glanced at the wall-mounted chronometer. _Two minutes before sunrise. Perfect._ He glanced at her and then moved towards the refresher. "Next time you have a nightmare, don't come crying to me," he snapped, grabbing a towel, as he stepped through the doors that hissed open before him and then quickly hissed shut.

He couldn't help it; he cast the towel on the floor and stared at his reflection from the mirror. _What is she hiding from me? Why doesn't she want me to help her?_ He gritted his teeth, knowing he would grow more frustrated with each passing moment. _What is really causing her to break down like this?_ He turned the tap and threw water on his face, cooling his temper—or so he imagined—and he begun the daily ritual of getting ready for another day on the job, organizing fleets and preparing to initiate the Restoration Projects on the battered world of Telos.

Telos had been one of the first planets to fall under Darth Malak's reign of terror and it certainly wasn't the last. Carth could only hope that Telos, serving as a test bed for other potential candidates in this project, would succeed.

_It would be good to have a home on Telos again_, he couldn't help but think, trying to take his mind away from the unseen problem that troubled Qiana.

Unfortunately, it proved to be much harder than he expected.

The doors hissed open and she came in, towel wrapped around her body, covering her chest to her shins.

Her long dark hair came down on her shoulders and along her back, some of it on her chest, covering her hands that held the two ends of the towel.

He couldn't help but admire her form.

_Snap out of it, Onasi_, he thought, returning his eyesight to his reflection. He brandished a shaver and began to get rid of a few days' worth of stubble while she walked towards him, her eyes on him.

"I'm sorry, Carth," she finally said, breaking the silence between the pair. "I know you're trying to help me and I don't seem to know what the problem is."

He glanced at her in the mirror and gave her a hard look. He turned back to face his reflection and continued shaving, wiping out the hairs under his chin.

She sighed, pressing herself closer to his back, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "I know you're upset, but please, understand I don't mean for any of this to happen."

"Of course you don't. You're just happening to have nightmares about something and you don't want to tell me. You're leaving me out of the loop and it's not your fault that I happen to care about what's happening," he replied, each word dripping with sarcasm. He brought the shaver across his left cheek.

He felt her face leave his back and he could feel that wave of coldness seeping into him. He never liked feeling so exposed and vulnerable at all, and it didn't do well to have the former Dark Mistress of the Sith standing behind him.

"I'm sorry, Carth," she whispered, stepping out of the room.

He sighed, "for the love of the Force."

_Don't go back_, some part of him said. _She's only doing this to hurt you again, to betray you._

"But I trust her," he whispered. "How could I be so stupid and let her think this is her fault?"

_She's only going to hurt you in the end. It's better to let her walk away._

"She needs some time to relax—I have to give her some space to figure out what the hell is going on," he replied to the thought, his eyes looking into his reflection, only to see another Carth Onasi standing before him, clad in his Republic Naval Uniform when he was on the _Endar Spire_.

_Remember Saul? You trusted him—you gave him some time and what did he do? He destroyed Telos and killed Morgana._

His hand tightened on the shaver, finishing the right side of his cheek, leaving only a goatee on his face. "Revan's not like that!"

_See?_ _You called her 'Revan,' not Qiana._

He sighed. "I love her, and whatever is harming her, it's—it's not my place to argue with her. She's got a problem and I need to help her."

_She _will_ leave you to suffer, Carth. If she regains her memories, then she _will_ revert to Revan and what then? Will you let her become the bane of the Galaxy once more?_

He shook his head. "No, that's where you're wrong. She'll always be Qiana. Revan may be long gone, but now she's Qiana, the Jedi Knight who stopped Malak and the Sith. She's a hero. Period."

_Heroes have been known to become conquerors, Carth. Remember that…_

He inhaled sharply and removed his towel, throwing it aside and moving towards the shower. _Maybe the shower will help me calm down,_ he couldn't help but think, as he entered the shower and let it run down his body.

_I'll have to talk to Bastila as soon as possible._

* * *

It was a warm and sunny day on Coruscant, filled with meager people who attempted to play busy, with very few sitting down to admire the fact that there were some things to treasure about the planet.

The sun gave them warmth that hardly bothered anyone at all.

Carth sat down on a café terrace, sipping bothan coffee, while he spoke to Bastila, who now drank some mild Telosian tea.

"I'm glad you could see me out of your busy schedule, Bastila," he began, smiling friendly. "It's been so long since we've had a chance to speak."

She nodded. "Indeed it has, Carth—or should I say Admiral?" She gave him a wink and he couldn't help but widen the smile on his face.

"Well, you can call me Carth, though if Brass ever found out about it, we'd be in trouble." After sharing a brief laugh with Bastila, he cleared his throat, ready to get down to business. "No, I'm afraid the reason why I have come is for a certain counterpart to us. Qiana has been acting strange as of late, and I don't know why."

"Oh?" Bastila asked, her brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"Well she's been acting…erratic. She's been having nightmares on a consistent basis now—for almost two months. Just the other night she had three major ones. I tried to talk to her, to calm her down, but she hit me good." He instinctively rubbed his jaw, remembering the uppercut she had delivered to him. "And when I tried to talk to her about it, she shrugs it off, saying it's been a nightmare and nothing more."

Bastila nodded. "Well, Carth, I will admit something to you. I have never seen her come into the Jedi Temple so haggard, even for someone such as herself. I had thought that perhaps the two of you had quarrels, but it would appear not."

He couldn't help but raise a brow. "Quarrels?"

She shook her head. "That's not the point. I've noticed her acting erratic. Just the other day, I saw her in the Temple Library, researching systems that went beyond the Outer Rim."

"Beyond?"

She nodded, taking a sip of her drink.

"Is she planning another war?"

Bastila shook her head. "I can't honestly say. When I tried to approach her or even feel her through our bond, she simply shied away from it and blocked my attempts to see how she felt. She's been doing that for almost three and a half months."

He couldn't help but rub his chin. "Something doesn't feel right."

She nodded in agreement, taking another sip of her tea.

"Thanks anyway, Bastila. We'll need to bring this up with her."

"Wait," Bastila said, stopping Carth from completely rising out of his chair. "She might be willing to speak to us both if we talk to her. It's worth a try, at least, isn't it?"

He sat back down mulling over the thought. "Do you think it would work?"

She shrugged. "Revan—I mean, Qiana, has always been unorthodox. I am not quite sure she'll listen to us both. She never did before when we were searching for the Star Forge."

Carth nodded, remembering that time.

Qiana never did like taking orders from anyone, especially Bastila. When they had rescued her on Taris, Qiana almost drove a fist into Bastila's face for not even thanking her in the slightest.

It was up to Carth to prevent them from killing each other, and most of the time, Qiana was the one who tried to do the killing.

He sighed. "Let's talk to her together. Come on, she's probably resting at home."

Bastila nodded, not fazed in the slightest by the last part. She had come to terms with the fact that Qiana had opted not to listen to the Jedi Code and furthermore, had chosen to live _away_ from the comfort of the Jedi Temple.

She may have been Revan, but as Qiana, she had opted for a life that was better than her previous one.

After downing the contents in their cups, they rose, taking the next taxi back to Carth's home.

* * *

As they arrived, they entered the suite, hoping that Qiana would still be there, meditating or sleeping.

"Hello?" Carth called out, as he walked through the doorway. "Qiana? Bastila's here!"

He heard nothing. Glancing at Bastila, he whispered, "she might not be home."

Bastila frowned. "I'm not too sure about that. I feel…something here."

He nodded. He went through the door and Bastila followed, as the doors hissed closed behind her.

"Make yourself at home," he said, casting his worn Republic jacket on the sofa.

He continued to walk around the home, calling out her name before he stopped by a doorway to the terrace and heard grunting.

He glanced at Bastila and she nodded.

There was more grunting, followed by a low cry.

"That's it," he growled, removing the worn blaster at his side. He pushed the door open, pointing his blaster around the terrace, only to come face to face with Qiana and her angry blue lightsaber.

Bastila had followed suit with Carth and had ignited one end of her lightsaber, only to stop as she saw that Qiana was training with her lightsaber.

She had been training with not one remote, but rather _ten_.

Deactivating her lightsaber, Qiana saluted the pair and took a few steps towards a table and picked up a bottle of water. After taking a few precious mouthfuls, she glanced at Carth and Bastila, their weapons still in hand and looking quite dumbfounded. "Were you worried?"

Looking slightly flustered, Carth holstered his blaster, and Bastila deactivated her lightsaber.

The remotes gathered and went off into the home.

"Take a seat," Qiana offered, casting a grin towards Carth, who now felt slightly bashful.

"We need to talk," Carth began, as he and Bastila took up seats in front of Qiana.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh? About what?" Her face looked harder, even with the sweat on her face as she looked at Carth. Her hair had been mussed and she was clad in a grey jumpsuit.

He sighed inwardly. _So, she's angry with how I acted earlier today. Great._

"Rev—I mean, Qiana," Bastila started, "it's been a year since the Star Forge. How do you feel?"

"You mean after I killed my supposed 'best friend' and usurper of the mantle of Dark Lord? Or do you mean the fact that it happens to be a year since the Star Forge and I've been having nightmares and visions that are my memories of my former self? Either way, I feel just peachy."

Bastila looked nervous and glanced at Carth.

Qiana sighed and glanced at Bastila, her voice sympathetic. "I'm fine, really guys. Don't worry about me."

"Don't worry about you?" Carth asked incredulously. "What do you mean? You've been having nightmares and you haven't been talking to us about it."

Qiana brought a hand to her face, rubbing the sweat off her. "Look, I'm fine. They're nightmares, but I can handle it. I just—I just need some time to myself, that's all. Dreams fade, and I'll be fine."

"What about you searching through the Jedi Temple's Archives for the Outer Rim systems?" He asked, his voice sharp.

"Carth, please," Bastila snapped, her voice pleading with the Jedi in Qiana and scolding the foolish man in Carth.

Qiana sighed. "Look, I'll be fine for tonight's ceremony if that is what you're worried about." She completely ignored Carth's line of questioning. She rose and left through the doors, with Bastila in hot pursuit.

Carth sat there, under the words of wisdom from Bastila. Otherwise known as her stern glance. He rose, slowly following them until he stood at the corner of the door.

"Please, Qiana, we're just concerned. We're your friends and we care about you." Bastila's voice was sincere and her eyes begging Qiana to at least give her some mention of what had been plaguing her. "You've been tired and off your game. I've felt it in you—I don't have to see it. There's something bothering you."

Qiana paused, looking at Bastila, her eyes occasionally wandering off. "I'm fine, really Bastila. It's just that…well, I don't know." She sat down on the sofa, Bastila sitting next to her. "I've been having visions—or memories of what I did as…well, as Revan." Her eyes glanced to a vase, filled with a rare Telosian plant that had been growing since she and Carth had gotten the apartment.

Bastila took her old friend's hand, causing Qiana to rest her head on Bastila's shoulder. "It's only natural, Qiana. The Force is strong in you. Your old memories may be returning to you, but with the proper guidance--,"

"No," she interrupted, taking her head off Bastila's shoulder and looking her in the eye. "I can't suppress it—not at all. I have to accept it. I've done some terrible things. I've killed people, I've crushed them, and I've done all sorts of things." She shook her head. "I can't go back. Not after what I've done." Tears began to form in her eyes, undoubtedly from her remembering the things she did as Darth Revan.

"Qiana," Carth began, walking towards her.

"No, Carth," she whispered, taking a step back. "I can't go back to being 'Qiana.' The Jedi may have given me a second chance, but I haven't redeemed myself. I've only prolonged the inevitable." She wiped the tears out of the corner of her eyes before she glanced at either of them.

Carth took a step towards her. "Whatever it is, Qiana, we can face it together. I won't let you do this alone."

She looked up at Carth. "Carth, I have to go far away. That's why I was looking through the Jedi Archives. There's something dark coming through the Galaxy and I had bred my army to be strong enough to face it. That's why I was taking the Republic by force. The Masters would never have understood why. I have to stop them from eliminating us. They're more powerful than you can imagine."

"What are you talking about, Qiana?"

"I-I can't say anymore, Carth. I'm sorry." She lowered her head and wiped her tears before she managed to calm herself. "I'm sorry. But I will be fine. I just need some time to myself."

Carth nodded, feeling weak and powerless to help her. A cold feeling settled in the base of his stomach as that dark voice returned. _She's going to betray you, Carth. You can already see how she's reverting._ His fists slowly began to clench and he was growing angry as he looked her.

Bastila glanced at Carth, her brow furrowing, until she recognized what was going on in Carth's mind.

His fear of betrayal had been one of the topics Qiana had confided in her and Bastila could see how he was going to deal with Qiana's issue. This was something she knew she'd have to stop before it grew any worse. "Carth," she began. "Maybe it is better if you stepped outside for a moment. Allow us a chance to speak in private."

He shook his head. "No Bastila. I want to know what the hell is going on here and now." He stared at Qiana hard. "What makes you think you have any right to do this? You can't just waltz in here and play with my feelings, Qiana! You can't just shut me out of your life and let me in when you feel like it! What's going on?"

She looked at Carth with incredulity and in that moment, she finally gave in. She slapped Carth across the face and stormed out. "How dare you think that this is about you!" She left the room, followed by the audible hissing of the door.

Bastila sighed and rose. "Carth, sit down, I'm going to go see if I can talk to her."

He nodded and slumped down on his sofa. "What the hell is wrong with me?" He brought both of his hands to cover his face and after another moment, rubbed his eyes and looked out.

It was the afternoon and soon the evening would follow, signifying the celebration the Republic was having in honour of those who had defeated the Sith Empire and Darth Malak.

He ran his hand through his hair. A small aching pain was coming from his side. Something was grazing into his hip and waist. Rising, he pressed a hand to it and realized what it had been. Removing it from its holster, Carth sat down and studied his old, worn blaster pistol. It had been through six wars, two of which Carth had been present for, and it would see itself passed on for many more years to come.

It had been in the family for so many generations, often given as a parting gift to those that were ready to take on the family's legacy of upholding peace, justice and tradition. The Onasi family crest was imbedded in the blaster as a reminder of what the weapon represented.

The blaster had been a founding gift, symbolizing the family's spirit in fighting for what they had believed in.

Carth remembered the stories his father had given him when he had used the blaster. The family normally had one custom built for each Onasi, and they would give the blaster to their family member and have another built for their line.

He sat there, remembering his family's tradition, knowing full well that he felt he had fulfilled it when he had given Dustil his very own blaster.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he never truly made Qiana a member in the family.

He had proposed to her, he lived with her, but he never truly gave her something that was a part of his legacy so she could build hers.

"She's been there for me ever since I could remember," he muttered. "I loved her then as I love her now." His eyes shifted towards a wall that had holographic images of him and Qiana at places, including their short-lived trip on the Rakatan homeworld. "So why am I worried about her betraying me?" He shook his head, glancing out of the window and towards the Jedi Temple.

"I'll give her my legacy. A means of letting her know that I will always love her and cherish her thoughts." He looked at his chronometer and his eyes went wide.

He had been sitting there, running through his memories for a few hours. He only had some time to get ready for the celebration.

The door hissed open and closed.

His eyes moved towards it. "Qiana?"

She stepped out and looked at hi, her expression softer and quiet.

He left the blaster on the sofa and walked towards her. He smiled at her and walked towards her. "I…I just wanted to say that I'm sorry, Qiana. I don't know what's gotten over me lately. I love you and I know I should be acting better."

She shook her head, resting on his chest. "No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I've been shutting you out because I'm afraid. I won't let anyone I love get hurt. I just won't, Carth. I love you far too much to let you get hurt."

He kissed her hair and whispered, "I know, Sweetheart. I know." He pulled away from her, looking at her. "Should we get ready?"

She smiled, and hugged him closer to her. "I think it would be better to just spend tonight together."

He kissed her head again and replied, "I'm all yours, Darling."

She looked up at him, a smile creeping onto her face. "I know."

* * *

It was dawn, and Coruscant's sun was rising. Carth stood out there, wearing his trousers and a light shirt, admiring the rising sun, signaling a new day.

He didn't know where the day would take him, nor the future for that matter, but he knew that whatever it held for him, it held an even greater destiny for Qiana.

He sighed. _I hope I know what I am doing, letting her go like this._

In his hands, he held the blaster close to him and he gripped it tighter until he knew that he would give it to her as a reminder of him and that she would always be a part of him.

He held a comlink close to him, glancing at Qiana, who was resting peacefully, though her naked form shifted slightly. "T3, are you there?"

The droid replied with a series of hoots and whistles.

"She's fine. Just, do me a favour."

The droid whistled a reply.

"Record this message for her."

The droid tweeted and Carth let himself speak.

* * *

Qiana stepped out of the refresher, watching Carth sleep. She didn't like doing this to him, but she knew it would be safer to let him stay behind, strengthening the Republic to a threat she felt growing.

It had haunted her for days and she knew that after she had completed writing it on her datapad and left it for Carth to read, she'd feel a great weight off her shoulder. It was the only way to let him know without trying to stop her.

She feared that she would stay and wait for the threat to arrive on her doorsteps, leaving her unprepared.

She shook her head. She knew she'd be doing this to save Carth and she knew she'd be doing this to save the rest of the Galaxy.

She couldn't help but hope to think that she'd return to known space again and marry Carth and finally settle down after defeating the threat.

She left orders, as only Revan could do.

Qiana knew that only Revan had the power to do what Qiana couldn't.

As Revan, she would make sure the Republic stayed strong while she fought a war against impossible odds.

She had done it before.

The only problem was that she had been sidetracked.

Her war of 4 years had almost cost her a victory, until Malak lost sight of the goal.

Qiana remembered each and every detail that Revan knew.

That was why she knew Carth would have to stay back until they defeated the true threat.

That was why she knew she had to leave.

Her memories had returned, carrying with it the burden of a job unfinished.

She would lead her remaining forces that waited for her beyond the Outer Rim.

She picked up her bag and felt a heavy weight. She glanced at Carth, who turned over, snoring soundly. Resting her bag, she opened it and found a datapad with a cloth wrapped over something.

She looked at the pad and read:

_My Dearest Qiana,_

_I know that whatever you are going to do, you need to do it for our benefit. I apologize for wanting to never let go of you, but I know that in order for you achieve what you need, I must. I don't know what those nightmares told you, or what visions you had, but I can tell that there is something left unfinished in your life. I want you to know that I will always cherish the memories we have together and that I will always love you, even to the end of my days. I leave one gift to you, as a reminder of who you are and what you're fighting for. I can only hope it has brought you the good fortune it has brought me. I love you, Qiana. May the Force be with you._

_Love Always, _

_Carth_

She glanced at him and saw that the covers were now over his head. He still snored and she couldn't help but smile and feel the hot burst of tears stream down her cheek. She looked into the bundle and opened it, removing the cloth and seeing a worn holster and pistol that accompanied it. It was the blaster that contained the Onasi family crest.

She smiled and put it in the bag. "I will always love you, Carth," she whispered, wiping her tears. She cast her own datapad by the dresser table nearest to him and pulled the covers down and kissed his cheek, causing him to mumble something unintelligible, before he turned over.

She turned away and walked off, picking up her bag and leaving the Onasi suite once and for all.

Her destiny lay before her, as Revan the calculating tactical genius was reborn with a purpose. Qiana would find a way to stop the true Sith from emerging into the Galaxy again. She would destroy them before they purged the Galaxy of life. She would do it for the Galaxy and for her friends, but most of all, she would do it for Carth.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Well, if you've stayed with me so far, then you have nothing but my thanks. I hoped you enjoyed the series on the Onasi Blaster. Be sure to look out for more stories to come. Take care and remember, if you've got a request or challenge, then go to Trillian4210's 'What do you want to read?" Forums. **


End file.
